Our Highs and Lows
by Gomes
Summary: [GC] Things get a little heated after Catherine confronts her secretive supervisor.
1. The Invasion

TITLE: Our Highs and Lows

AUTHOR: Gomey

ARCHIVE: Anywhere, just let me know so I can brag...

RATING: R

SPOILERS: High and Low (3-10) and brief mention of Justice is Served (1-20)

DISCLAIMER: All known characters and premises belong to their respective owners. So there.

SUMMARY: Things get a little heated after Catherine confronts her secretive supervisor.  
  
------  
  
Catherine stopped in front of her supervisor's office; her eyes travelling his form, taking in his somewhat tense state. She took a deep breath, and walked in, speaking before his acknowledgement. "Closed that murder I was working." She decided a safe route would be to keep the conversation on work related topics, instead of a more important issue that was plaguing her thoughts. "A man's life for a dog's life for a mulberry tree. Sometimes I wonder if people are meant to live together."  
  
Gil finally glanced up, his eyes roaming her beauty before finding his voice. "Well, you know what they say -- 'good fences make good neighbours.'" He muttered, his eyes darting to his screen before returning to her.  
  
"Then you'd make a great neighbour..." Catherine jested, though she hoped that he would pick up the soft truth laced within.  
  
Gazes held as both tried to read the other out, and finally Gil's eyes returned back to the screen, a small grumble of confirmation drifting by.  
  
Her light chuckle mingled with his mumble and she pressed on. "New case?"  
  
Gil's eyes continued to soak in the information in front of him – giving him insight to the ailments and treatments of his pending disease. "Ongoing." He offered, almost uninterested. His fear of succumbing to the silence that inevitably would take over his life, had caused him to withdraw more and more from the world. He didn't necessarily enjoy his solitude – he had no choice, for his ponderation lead him to accept that 'it was his disease, thus his problem'.  
  
Catherine sighed, hating being shut out by the man she thought a special relationship had formed throughout the years. Determination and love pushed her to inquire further, and she leaned over his desk, straining to see the computer screen. "Oh...bugs." She deadpanned, grimacing slightly as she caught view of the webpage changing abruptly. She withdrew slightly and walked around the desk, now standing behind him.  
  
Gil straightened up slightly, his face donning a frown. He shifted nervously in his seat, as his eyes followed her form, and his nose trailed her scent. He felt her stop behind him, and he awaited her next move.  
  
It felt like an eternity, and both beings just soaked each other's energy, a general feeling of completion in the air.  
  
Gil began to relax a bit, assuming the strawberry-blonde was merely reading over his shoulder, though he was a little taken aback by her sudden interest in the entomological world.  
  
In an unexpected movement, Catherine swiped the back of his head. "Enjoy." She huffed, ire no longer being able to be contained.  
  
"Cath!" Gil held the back of his head, more out of shock. "What did you do that for?" His voice raised two octaves, incomprehension trailing his words.  
  
"Bugs...Gil? Bugs?!" She cleared the papers off his desk in frustration, her anger now bubbling at his refusal to deal with the issue at hand.  
  
Gil sat back in his chair, watching her pace the room before glancing at the mess of papers on the floor. "Are you going to clean that up?" He asked, a little harshly if only for the confusion that he found himself surrounded by.  
  
"Right after you clean up this!" She motioned back and forth between them.  
  
He placed his elbow on his desk, hand cradling his cheek as a sigh escaped his lips. "I don't know what to say."  
  
"That seems to happen a lot, doesn't it?" She said with acidity. "God Gil...how long were you going to keep this from me?"  
  
He unconsciously shut down his computer. "You...uh, know." He stated, not meeting her eyes. "How?"  
  
Catherine sat down in front of his desk. "I read the signs Gil." She dropped her eyes to the ground, "and I uh...I checked your computer." Her voice leveled, instilling confidence in her actions without regret.  
  
Gil's eyes snapped to hers and he leaned on the desk. "You went through my computer." He repeated, his eyes burning with anger.  
  
Catherine leaned forward too, until her face was mere inches from his. She didn't vocalize, but her eyes confirmed that no fear was present; she knew he would never harm her. She had realized that the only way that these matters would be opened for discussion if trickery was present. A slight pang of guilt caressed her mind – hurting her supervisor was not amongst actions her heart could bear, but if it meant ultimately saving their relationship, the risk would be attempted.  
  
Gil's jaw tightened as he gazed heatedly into her eyes. He breathed heavily through his nose, trying to calm his injured spirit. "Close the door." His voice was loud, but controlled and forced the strawberry-blonde back slightly.  
  
Catherine closed the door and leaned against it, staring straight ahead at the blue-eyed man pacing the area behind his desk.  
  
"Sit down." He barked, feeling the heat rise in the room. He was trying to command his temper; feeling betrayed that she would feel the need to investigate his own personal matters, behind his back.  
  
Catherine narrowed her eyes, before pushing herself from the door and sitting down in front of him. She kept her mouth closed, she too breathing sharply through her nose.  
  
"I can't believe you would go through my stuff, Catherine!" Gil yelled, raking a hand through his hair. "I thought you trusted me more than that...respected me more than that."  
  
Catherine stared at him wide-eyed. "You want to talk about trust, Gil?" Pointing to his computer, she shared her thoughts, "I had to search through your computer history to see what you were hiding!" She glanced at him, unbelieving that she had to validate her actions. "I thought we were friends."  
  
"We were." He replied through gritted teeth.  
  
"Oh, very mature." She dismissed his venomous remark. "When were you planning on telling me about your condition?"  
  
"It's called otosclerosis, Cath – oh, why am I explaining..." He paused, cocking his head to the side, "you already know!"  
  
Catherine dropped her head to her chest. "Yeah, I read up on it, because I was concerned, Gil." She stood up, walking over to his side of the desk. "You began to withdraw, hide yourself in your office." She dropped her gaze to the floor. "More importantly, you were distancing yourself from me..."  
  
Gil held his breath, taking a step closer. "I didn't know I hurt you, Cath...believe me when I say that I would never do anything to jeopardize our friendship." He brought a hand to cup her cheek, lightly stroking it with his thumb. He leaned in closer, his lips opening in anticipation, "but what you did was invasion of privacy!" He raised his voice again.

* * *

Warrick glanced at the young lab rat, ear pressed to the door. "Greg." He raised his eyebrow. "What are you doing?"  
  
"Shh..." Greg tried to quiet the tall CSI. "They're fighting...Grissom's really letting Catherine have it this time."  
  
"What, again?" Warrick sighed, taking a place beside Greg. "I'm sure Catherine's not backing down, though."  
  
"Are you kidding? She's been yelling as much as he has." Greg shook his head.

* * *

Catherine took a step back, mouth open wide with surprise. She pressed her lips tightly together, throwing him an accusing stare. "And you were withholding information!"  
  
"I wasn't with-holding anything that I didn't want to share!" He looked at her perplexed. "What, you think I have a duty to tell you everything?"

* * *

Greg cringed. "Ooh, bad choice of words..."  
  
Nick walked by, and watched the two eavesdroppers with intrigue. "What's going on?" His thick Texan accent was immediately shushed by Greg.  
  
"Listen!"  
  
"What, again?" Nick asked, pressing his ear to the door. "How bad has he screwed things up this time?"

* * *

Catherine held on to the desk for support. She let out a deep breath, blinking away the tears. "Well."  
  
"Catherine..." Gil started, but sighed instead of continuing.  
  
"No, no you're right. You don't owe me anything Gil." She nodded and walked towards the door. "I just thought that, after all we've been through...you might have wanted to share something with me."

* * *

Greg's eyes grew wide. "Guys! She's..."

* * *

Catherine swung open the door, and leaned back slightly, eyeing two CSIs and a lab tech standing petrified in front of the door. She opened her mouth, then dismissed the moment with a wave of her hand. Pushing past them, she shouldered her bag and headed to the parking lot.  
  
All three men slowly leaned, glancing in the supervisor's office.  
  
"It's empty." Greg said slowly, as confusion to Gil's whereabouts arose. "Do you think he's -"  
  
Greg's words were interrupted by the door slamming in all of their faces.  
  
"– dead."

* * *

Gil rested his forehead against the door, his balled up fist readying to pound it. He hated fighting with her, and more-so, he hated himself for the things he had just said. "But she had no right to snoop around." He told himself aloud, his anger and remorse battling a fierce war on the battlegrounds of his heart.

* * *

Gil sighed, stepping into his office and tossing his jacket on the couch. He sat heavily in his chair and stared at the ceiling, reflecting the recent moments passed with his blonde counterpart. Their relationship already fragile – crumbling due to his actions, seemed to shatter even more as each case hobbled by.  
  
He had been forced to work alongside her in a case that required her blood spatter analysis expertise and amidst the cold stares, harsh remarks and avoidance, he found himself unable to approach her to make amends. After the collection of evidence, they sat suspended in a contortioned silence as the Tahoe made way back to the lab. When he assumed the tension couldn't strangle him anymore, he realized that all lines of communication between them were severed, as Catherine seemed to have hired the rest of the team as homing pigeons. Their knowing stares were piteous yet caustic, and he knew that his worth in their eyes must have decreased over his disagreement with Catherine. The only one not giving him the brush-off was Sara, but Gil was aware of her reasons behind her actions: he knew of her infatuation with him, and he feared that it would only be a moment's wake before the brunette would make some sort of uncomfortable approach.  
  
He fingered the case notes in his pocket and re-read them, all seemingly written with no emotion at all. Crumpling them up, he shoved them roughly into his pocket, his hand curling with stress.

* * *

Catherine slammed her locker shut, thankful that shift was finally over. She had her morning planned: go home to an empty house courtesy of Lindsey's sleepover party, ponder her current relationship with Gil and then drink herself into the next day. Her thoughts fluttered back to moments prior, and she started seething that their current status wasn't bothering him as much as it was affecting her. The more she thought about his reactions, the more frustrated she became. Giving her locker a sucker- punch, she decided the pay the mad scientist a visit.  
  
--TBC--


	2. The Attack

Disclaimers et all in first chapter.

-------------

Her confident strides spawned the harsh heeled clicking that followed her down the linolium path to his office, where she stood and stared at the door, teeth clenched and ready for the attack.

* * *

He closed his eyes, denied sight offering sound passage, as he ventured into a seldom visited meditation. Sight, sound and smell dissipated as he focussed his energy to guide him into a place of comfort and serenity, perhaps one that would shed light on how to mend their delicate relationship. 

She swung open the door, and shut it silently behind her - in a last minute self-controlled action to present herself in a professional manner. "We have to talk, I...what I mean to say is that we - " She paced the area near the door, chiding herself for not having gathered her thoughts before the offense. She glanced at his inattentive stare, a stance mimicking a battling gaze between man and ceiling, through lidded eyes, and vainly attempted discover what could hold his curiosity when the reconstruction of their friendship was at a dire high.

His brow furrowed, despite his eyes' sheltered state, and he silently pondered his current audible status. It had melted into a stage where his hearing would come and go, denying convenience and usually opting for more inopportune times to surface. He slapped his hand on the table; a frustrated test to display whether his sense was still with him.

Silence.

Her mouth fell open, shocked at his attitude towards her attempts to doctor their fractured relationship. "I know that this talk is anything but pleasant, but you don't have to be aggressive about it, Gil. I'm here, trying to save our excuse for a relationship..." She paused, leaning against the wall. 

Moments passed where blue sought blue; the willing pleading with the inattentive. Moments passed where each set of ears yearned for the other's voice, though discerned by an active desire on one side in adjacent confrontation with a passive wish on the other. Moments passed where hearts lunged for the other, the opened battling with the closed.

"What, do you think ignoring me will make me go away, that'll I'll just put this out of heart and mind, and hope for the best?" Her voice jumped the shrill barrier before she dropped her head to her chest, exhaling a defeated sigh. "I'm not like you, Gil..." She sighed, knowing that this route was not the path to the rehabilitation of their friendship. "Look, I'm sorry that I invaded your privacy, it's just that," she pressed her lips together, trying to control the fury of emotions that were ping-ponging against her heart, "I hate being shut out, you know?" Her voice dropped to a shy whisper, and she dared not glance at his form. "Especially by you." She dared to pour her heart out, hoping to achieve some reaction from the man that held her respect and love captive. "Gil...you mean a lot to me, and I want you to know that I only did what I did because I worry about you. I - I care about you deeply, and I wouldn't be able to stand having anything happen to you." Words longing to be released teetered on the tip of her tongue, and she placed a hand on her forehead awaiting a reaction from her best-friend. "It's funny...but I've felt things, Gil, and I don't know if it's just me, but I have a suspicion that you've felt them too. Things are changing...have been changing between us, and I think we really need to discuss them."

He sighed aloud, massaging his temples to alleviate the migraine he felt bubbling courtesy of stress' generosity. He disliked being kept in the dark, being void of control of his own senses - not being able to know when his hearing would return and for how long that privilege would grace his presence. Drumming his fingers on the table, he kept his focus on his fingers, each jumping on the wooden surface, hoping to be able to catch a snippet of its soundwave.

She rolled her eyes, narrowing them at the man who had ignored her presence since she stepped foot in her office. "I'm sorry, are my words of love interrupting something important in your busy life? Was it too much to ask to be spared a few minutes to resolve an obvious problem that's been brewing between us?" She bit her lip, curbing cusses that were stewing in the pit of her stomach and that had made a pit stop in the depths of her heart. She swung open the door, realizing her futile efforts to converse with the difficult man, stepped outside his office and slammed it shut with an angered force that caused many lab techs in the vicinity to eye her with caution.

His hearing chose moment's fury to materialize, and his gaze snapped to the door, having heard it slam, though it bordered on echoing the rage of a gunshot. Brow furrowed, he got up and walked to the door, opening it and glancing outside. To the left, he noticed a group of discussing techs who gabbled in their shaken rumours. To the right offered him a miraged glimpse of desired strawberry-blonde strands, hugging the corners and venturing out of sight. He blinked, pondering whether such an image had presented itself to his stare, or perhaps fatigue, stress and guilt were concocting a rotten trick on his mind. Shrugging, he hit the lights and locked his door behind him, realizing that his shift was finally over.

A small smile did manage to spread, upon smelling her lingering perfume in the hall, on his way to the locker room, an offered breakfast his intent on clearing up their current troubles.

* * *

Warrick sat on the bench, staring at the irate strawberry-blonde who seemed to be taking out her anger on her locker and his ear-drums. He cringed for the seventh time, listening to her voice climb the scales sharply. "Did you try talking to Gris?" 

"I poured my bloody heart out," Her voice dropped to a monotonous level, "didn't even bat an eye." She sighed, her heart racing from her raging rant, and sat down heavily beside the younger CSI. "I just don't know what to do..."

"Catherine...have you calmed down?"

She turned abruptly, staring down the man who chose the most awkward time to attempt humour's challenge. "What?"

"Well, you seemed pretty steamy today, and I could hear you all the way down the hall - I was just wondering if you had cooled down enough so we could have a little ... uh, a little talk or something." He paused, noting the aghast look on Catherine's face, and the incomprehensive mask that Warrick had dawned. He shifted nervously, suddenly feeling nervous in the spotlight. "Breakfast...my treat?"

"You son of a -"

"Catherine." He shook his head as a silent warning, not too fond of playing the mediator, but still insistent in his ways.

She glanced at the younger CSI who had just manually curbed her vocal line of thought. She pursed her lips together, anger boiling rapidly. "How dare you..." It was a whisper, and the threat in her voice caused the supervisor to take a step back, allowing her ample space to stalk out of the break room, leaving a heavily confused man in her wake.

Gil watched her storm out of the lab, his eyes glued in her direction even when she was out of sight. He finally brought his gaze to rest on Warrick, who had been observing him since Catherine's outburst. The younger man raised his eyebrow, silently conversing with his supervisor and friend. Gil shrugged, shaking his head in an attempt to shake off the veiled muddle that clouded his mind and heart.

Warrick watched his supervisor follow the path of the incensed strawberry-blonde and let out a deep sigh. Knowing that if feelings weren't resolved quickly between the two stubborn CSIs, the proverbial fan would soon be hit.

–TBC–


	3. The Victory

Disclaimers et all in chapter one.

-------------

Catherine pushed open the heavy metal door to one of the lesser-used morgue rooms. Keeping her foot from letting the door closed, she scanned the barren room. "Greg?" She called out softly, her voice lowering as a natural reflex whenever in the entertainment of such a sombre vicinity. She heard a noise from the far corner, where a door was ajar and a soft light's glow filtered through. Taking off her shoe and using it as a doorjamb, she instinctively went to investigate the curious noise.

Poking her head in the door, her inquisitive state was replaced with ire. "Oh, it's only you." She leaned against the door, arms folded across her chest. "What are you doing here?"

Gil casually glanced up at her, shrugged and then went back to observing one of the corpses. Silence ensued save for the loud crinkling that the body bag produced as Gil side-stepped on it; his focus still donated to the body in front of him.

Catherine observed him, swallowing hard. His concentration and devotion had always been a strong turn-on, and she often imagined being the center of such attention. He wasn't outgoing, but she had the strongest of suspicions that he was a passionate lover - his dedication to whatever he set his mind and heart on being the strongest intention to achieving not just satisfaction, but complete bliss.

And she wanted to feel that. She wanted to feel him...wanted to feel him feeling her.

"Greg."

Her eyes focussed on his body, still hunched over the DB in the tiny room. "What?"

"Greg told me that Robbins wanted me to help him with a body...something about being backed up at the morgue." He prodded the lifeless being and leaned back slightly, observing it. "I thought it was this one, but it's already been autopsies." He traced along the Y-incision, feeling the ridges and bumps beneath his latex-clad finger. "As have all the others." He pointed to the other bags, most of them sealed.

Catherine let out a disgusted grunt, watching Gil zip up the bag. "Greg told me that the DB from the case I wrapped up yesterday had been wrongfully disposed here." She scrubbed a hand across her face. "He wanted me to ID the body and - "

Her words were interrupted by a loud metal-on-metal slam and she leaned back, glancing at the door. Her eyes went wide, burning with anger as she saw the little lab rat holding up her shoe, on the other side of the window. She flashed him the finger as he pointed at the shoe, and then rubbed one hand underneath his eye, in a blatant crying-jest. She glanced back at her supervisor, who, still unperturbed, was now observing another body. "This doesn't bother you?" She waited, watching him with a festering frustration. "Grissom!" She yelled, trying to analyse the confusion in his eyes when he finally looked up at her. "What the hell is your problem! The door just - "

He watched her turn away from him, his eyes having seen movement in her mouth, but his ears not registering her verbal action. He closed his eyes, cursing his condition.

Awaiting a response, she whipped around only to find him in his own little world; head tilted slightly to the side, eyes gently closed with a furrowed brow. Curiosity and a twinge of worry crept up, denying anger to continue its boil. "Grissom." She said quietly, stepping closer when he failed to respond. "Gil..." It was a little louder this time.

He jumped when he felt her hand on his forearm; her eyes searching his for well-kept secrets. "Sorry, I thought you left." He mumbled, hoping his voice carried out his mind's blind message.

She jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "I just told you that Greg took my shoe, which was the door-jam, which was effectively keeping the door from locking closed." She babbled, pointing to her right foot, now boastingly bare. "That little rat!" She charged the door, banging on it hard before letting her nails scrape at the stainless steel exterior.

He glanced towards her direction and then back at the body in front of him. "So...Greg told me that Robbins needed help here, and clearly that's not the case." He pointed at Catherine, signalling her explanation.

"Greg told me that I had to come to this particular room to ID a body from a case that I recently closed." She pursed her lips, looking her supervisor in the eye all the while trying to process many worrying thoughts at the same time.

"And said rat just ran off with our door-jam."

"Right."

The two stood in silence, staring at one another whilst trying to assess the damage caused and the future destruction that suspiciously lay in waiting.

"I think it was a message." Gil finally said, breaking the muted atmosphere.

"Y'think?" She huffed, falling back heavily against the wall, before sliding down to a sitting position. She brought her knees up to her chest, resting her forearms on top of them. She glanced up at her supervisor, watching his attention slowly deter back to the dead body in front of him.

"Hmm." He muttered, examining the body from a lower angle.

"Hmm what?" Her tone was slightly irate, as the realisation of being stranded with 'Mr. Awkward' finally hit.

"I wonder how he died." He poked the body, looking for any hints as to the cause of death.

"Maybe he pissed off his best-friend."

He glanced up, sensing a threat in her monotonous delivery, before taking a step closer towards the body and further away from the fuming strawberry-blonde.

"I can't believe Greg had the nerve to lock us in here...like caged beasts." She leaned her head back against the cold linoleum panelled wall.

"We're only beasts if we adhere to our animalistic side, Catherine."

She stared at him blankly, his sage remark dissipating over her head. "Right." She clicked her tongue, eye-brow raised and a curious-yet-confused twitch in her eye. "I just can't believe the little squirrel had the guts to do that." She muttered, resuming her rant and eventual rampage against the spikey-haired boy.

"When you think about it, it was a rather natural response."

"You're sticking up for the little critter?" She was know lying on her back, staring up at the dirty ceiling above. Her eyes darted to the suspended ceiling lamps as they eerily swayed with gentle movement, courtesy of the ventilation's whispers. She shivered slightly.

"I'm not sticking up for him," Gil stepped over her body and sat down, leaning against the wall beside her. "It's just," he paused, searching for a quick explanation. "Do you remember how you used to act when your parents fought?"

She dropped her head to the side, resting it on her arm that was folded under, creating a makeshift pillow. "Please, you are not comparing Greg to our child." She said, her tone inching on mockery.

"You yourself said that these people are building a family around me." He countered as a knowing smirk formed on his lips. "It's very common for a child, especially the youngest of the bunch, to go to great lengths to keep his parents together," he paused reiterating, "to keep his family together."

"I hate that grin." She muttered, turning her attention back to the gritty ceiling.

"What grin?"

"The 'I'm-always-right' grin." She sighed, her shirt inching up slightly as she inhaled, then exhaled. "I know that grin all to well." Her tone grew softer.

His eyes graced the milky white plain of her tummy, but his ears registered a saddened voice trailing the murmured air. "You say it like it's a bad thing."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. "I don't know...somewhere down the line, you get tired of being wrong all the time."

"Soul-searching?"

She shrugged, "a little." She closed her eyes, feeling moisture gather, unknowing as to why she was becoming so affected. "You're exposed to so much hate in the World that, it sometimes gets hard to filter it out, you know? You close cases and are rewarded with as much closure as the family, because diving into the evidence is just like excavating a person's life. There's an intimacy that the dead share with us, and that creates a connection. That relationship can either part either way: with justice or with injustice."

"Ah, the one that got away." He understood her sense of despair, having often felt it himself.

"I feel useless at times, Gil. We give the prosecution as much as we can, but the jury is more interested in how many tears the defence can shed. They associate tears with remorse, and where it might be true in some cases, a crime was still committed. Sometimes I wish they would listen to the evidence instead of the tall-tales that are fabricated."

"People often hear what they want to hear...it's a human defence mechanism." He reasoned, his tone softening at her obvious frustrations.

"Yeah well, sometimes, all I want is to be listened to." She threw a glare his way, resolving to bury any discretions.

It flew right by him, as he further attempted to alleviate her stress. "You have a lot to be proud of, Catherine."

She rolled her eyes, choosing to believe his delusion rather than start another fight. "And what about you," she asked morosely, "what are you most proud of?"

He shrugged, watching her as she moved to sit beside him. "I have a lot to be proud of."

A smirk peeked out, tempting his lips to tease it. "Please, let's cut the modesty, huh?"

He raised his eyebrow, noting the sarcasm in her voice. "No I mean...I'm glad I've been able to sustain a relationship like ours without completely destroying it." He admitted shyly, looking down at his hands.

She followed his gaze then glanced back up at his face, offering a jesting tone to match the lightness of their conversation. "No...but you have come close." She leaned in slightly, giving him a playful shove with her shoulder.

"Well that's because I didn't poke my nose into someone else's business, now did I?" Humour gently hugged his thought, as he nudged her back with some playful banter offered.

Her mood changed immediately as her mouth hung open. "Well I didn't hide anything from you!" She shoved him harder, physically taking out her anger on him. "This is so like you!" She exclaimed, hopping to her feet and pacing the area. "I just wanted to help, but instead I got shut out and then ignored and finally trapped in a room with my best-friend who's going deaf but didn't have the courage to tell me." She tried to control her voice, but ire was fuelling the volume of her words. "What, was it some male macho'ism that prevented - " She interrupted herself, eyes wide. She slowly turned, facing her best-friend who was still sitting on the floor, staring at the ground beside him.

Silence ensued and he glanced up, looking at her with hurt eyes. "What, did you stop talking or has my hearing gone out." He asked, an acidic flavour to his normally warm voice. He didn't care anymore; she had basically called him a coward and though the words stung, he realized that the aching jolt was magnified by the truth: he was a coward. A caitiff who sought solace and comfort in his work rather than in the one person who always generously offered herself as a crutch.

"...your hearing." She repeated, her voice low to reflect her personal thought process. She knelt down in front of him, her knees on either side of his outstretched legs. "You never heard me..." She pointed to the table, "with the body and Greg locking us in, and..." she vaguely pointed towards his office, "when I literally poured my heart out - " She stopped herself again, afraid of the inquisitive look in his eye.

"You poured your heart out?" He asked, avoiding the primary question at hand.

"No..." She lied, unable to tear her eyes away from his.

"What did you say, Catherine?" He asked, one hand gently resting on her thigh. When words failed to escape, he pressed on, keeping his voice smooth and low. "Tell me, Catherine. Tell me what my ears missed."

She glanced at his lips then back at his eyes. "That..." His lips came back into view, and then the intense prying orbs once more. "That I often thought..." The light pink of his lips, and then the inviting blues of his eyes. She reached forward with her lips, desire to taste him overpowering common sense.

He closed his eyes as soon as her soft mouth touched his, relishing in the gentle caresses her surprisingly timid advances offered. He pushed things forward, giving her thigh a slight squeeze. As she opened her mouth to moan, he slipped his tongue in, creating a more intimate bond.

She pulled back, eyes glazed with emotion. "That's what I wanted to tell you."

He smirked lazily, his hand reaching up to caress her face. "Well, unfortunately my rebuttal can't be expressed in such environments." He leaned forward, capturing her bottom lip with a gentle suction. "My points are best stated in the comfort of my bedroom."

"So how..." She paused, unsure how to inquire about such a deterioration.

"It comes and goes." He replied simply, eyes memorizing the beauty of her face.

"How bad is it?" She asked softly, gently caressing his ear lobe.

"Don't know, yet." He replied with the same tone, his eyes never leaving hers. "I'm thinking surgery."

"Positive outcome?" She asked, keeping her words to a strict minimum concerning the subject. She knew it was a tough conversation for him to have, and there was no desire to push him past his limits to extract information.

"It'll have to do." He traced the outline of her lips with his thumb. "...to not hear your voice would be unbearable." He admitted, his eyes rising to hold her gaze.

"Whatever happens, you know that I'll be with you every step of the way, right?"

"That was one of my fears, you know." His eyes dropped to her neck, where this thumb proceeded to soothingly massage the soft skin there. "I guess I was just afraid that I'd lose more than my hearing..." He trailed off, a depressive feeling lingering.

She gave him a whack on the head. "What the hell would make you think that!" She sighed, brushing a hand through his hair.

He smiled sheepishly, offering no further information to such fears of loss.

"Well either way, you have me now." She smiled, dusting his lips with small pecks. "Closer than before." She grinned, shifting higher and settling down on his lap, pressing herself against him. She felt him slightly reluctant. "But Gil..." She whined, knowing that he was aching for the same kind of release she was. "We've waited around twenty years - "

" - so what's a few more hours?" He gently kissed her temple. "Besides, I'm not too keen on performing in front of an audience." He shifted his gaze to numerous body bags in the room.

Catherine grimaced and stood up, offering him a hand. "Next room, now." She pulled him out, closing the door behind him. "Twenty years on the job and I still get creeped out." She shivered, watching her friend climb up and lie down on a clean slab. She sauntered over, gently running her hand from his hip to his shoulder.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to give into the senses that he had for so long denied. Exhaling deeply through his nose, his body began to relax as she gently massaged his chest. Her eyes spotted something shiny beside him and she quickly plucked it, a skip of fear materializing in her heart. "You almost lay down on the scalpel." She held it up, showing him the offending tool.

"Catherine, NO!" Greg burst into the room, leaning against the open door.

Catherine placed a hand over her heart, trying to shake off her surprised state. "Greg, what are -"

" - you killed Grissom!" He interrupted her, dramatically pointing at Gil's body.

Gil raised his head and glanced at the lab tech. "Greg?"

Confusion met embarrassment as Greg placed Catherine's shoe on the ground, once again using it as a doorjamb. "Grissom, hey." He shoved his hands deep in his pockets, a small school-boy charm surrounding him. "I just thought that..." He pointed to the scalpel that Catherine still held.

"Oh, yeah, Gil almost lay down on it. I was just moving it." She explained, a small grin on her face. "So...are we free to leave?"

He took a step back, a little afraid of the repercussions of his actions. "Listen guys, I just...I just wanted you guys to get along, you know?" He nervously chewed on his lower lip. "No hard feelings?"

Gil glanced at his strawberry-blonde lover with a raised eyebrow. He hopped off the slab, and headed towards the door, picking up Catherine's shoe replacing it with his foot.

Catherine walked up to Greg and placed a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay Greg, we understand why you did it. This place is like a family, and Gil and I are like the parents. It's hard to see your parents fight."

"Actually, you guys yelling at each other all the time was really distracting." He leaned back slightly, off the glare that Catherine shot him. "And the whole family thing, yeah." He gulped, taking another step back from her. "So, no hard feelings?"

Catherine smiled, taking her shoe and putting it back on. "No hard feelings Greg." She turned and smiled warmly at him, "actually, we should thank you." She looked back at Gil who offered her a supportive wink.

"Thank me?" Greg's voice went up slightly, guided by surprise.

"Yeah, without this scenario, Gil and I wouldn't have given each other a chance to really talk."

Greg nodded, a goofy grin spreading. "See, the Gregster knows." He tapped the side of his head.

"He sure does...you're a credit to your profession, Greg." Catherine said, turning and leaving with Gil.

"Aww, thanks guys!" Greg gushed, glancing up to see that both Gil and Catherine had already retreated. He smiled, content with his involvement as he reached for the door's handle. "Uh guys." He muttered to himself softly, as he realized that no handle was present. "Guys!" He called out, a little louder, looking through the small window. "C'mon guys, this isn't funny!" He pouted.

Suddenly, strawberry-blonde hair came into view.

"Catherine! Oh Catherine, thank God!" He yelled, waving at her through the window.

Catherine waved back at the lab rat, and rubbed a fist underneath her eye, mimicking his earlier taunts.

"Okay, I deserved that...but you seriously can't leave me in her alone." He protested, glancing over his shoulder. "It's cold and I'm scared." His voice dropped to a whine.

"Oh Greg!" Catherine yelled through the window. "One of the bodies in there might not be quite dead yet..."

"What do you mean, 'not quite dead yet'!" He shrieked.

Catherine grinned as she walked away, joining Gil who was waiting by the door.

"How long are you going to keep him in there?" He asked, giving her a quick kiss on her collarbone.

She shrugged happily, pointing towards the door. "Oh, I don't know, until he figures out that the door isn't completely closed."

Gil glanced back, seeing a folder strategically placed, thus keeping the door from locking. "Let's hope the little man has nails." He commented, grasping hold of her hand.

"Ah besides, the janitor comes by to make his rounds in about an hour." She smiled smugly. "That should give him enough time to think about what he did."

"You're evil." Gil commented, a wry smile on his lips.

"I know." She grinned, a sultry air to her admission.

"I love that about you."

"...I know."

–finis–


End file.
